


The Apprentice

by shadeshifter



Series: Finding Home [17]
Category: Forever (TV), Highlander: The Series, White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeshifter/pseuds/shadeshifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey's week goes from bad to strange when he encounters a naked man walking out of the East River. And that's only the start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU after season 5 of White Collar because, while the whole ‘ultimate con’ thing was cool, it's already been done better on Sherlock and it felt like a complete turnaround from a Neal who repeatedly fought for his freedom but also to stay in New York because of the roots he’d set down. So Neal never gets kidnapped, no Pink Panthers etc.
> 
> Those who aren't familiar with Forever – it's about a man, Henry Morgan, who is approximately 200 years old, who works as an ME for NYPD. He doesnt make connections to people easily, except for his son, Abe, who is now an old man (played by Judd Hirsch). Every time he dies, he reappears naked in a body of water.
> 
> This is totally not another Methos and Kronos fic. It’s a Neal Caffrey fic. No really, I swear.

(Banner by [TouchoftheWind](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind))

  

Neal's week started frustrating and painful before it took a turn for the strange. He was standing against the railings, looking out over the East River and contemplating the hypocrisy of the FBI, when an attractive naked man emerged from the water. He continued watching, bemused, as the man picked up a newspaper to cover himself, seeming more resigned than embarrassed.

“Afternoon,” the man said with a faint, chagrined smile and a small wave.

“Afternoon,” Neal replied. The man continued walking past him. Neal wasn't above looking his fill before asking, “Do you need some help?”

The man paused and turned.

“A phone call, perhaps?” Neal offered.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” the man said, British accent evident. Neal handed over his phone and pretended not to listen to the man's quiet conversation. He didn't reveal much, just that this clearly wasn't the first time he'd taken a naked dip in the river and needed a lift.

“Henry Morgan,” the man said once he'd ended his call and returned the phone.

“Neal Caffrey.”

They shook hands and sat on the bench to wait for whomever Henry had called. Ten minutes later, an older man came hurrying up to them, holding a bag that he quickly thrust at Henry. Henry wasted no time in pulling out slacks and a shirt and slipping into them.

“Happen often, does it?” Neal asked.

“Somnambulist,” Henry said in something approaching an answer.

Neal decided not to mention that it was the middle of the afternoon.

...

Two days later, Neal was accosted by a man with a sword. This was proceeded with one of the headaches Neal had been experiencing off and on for almost two years now – he could never predict what brought them on and they faded quickly.

"I’m not sure what this is about, but I’m sure we can come to an arrangement," he told the crazy man while reaching into his pocket for his phone.

The man didn’t answer, just swung at him again. Neal stumbled out of the way.

"Please," a man said from further down the alley where he was leaning casually against the wall, disdain dripping from his voice. "I’m all for taking advantage, but do you really think this kid is worth the effort?"

"Stay out of this, mortal," the crazy man told the other, Neal is almost sure, crazy man. That’s when he gets his first good look at the man and can’t help but recognise Damian Moreau, even though he’s supposed to be in prison or dead. Neal would have been happy with either, since the guy was a psychopath and it was impossible to work in Europe without crossing paths with his network.

"If I was the man I used to be, I might have actually fought you over this for fun, or sport," Moreau said. He shrugged, removed his hands from his pockets, raised a gun and shot. The crazy man with the sword collapsed in a spray of blood that Neal flinched away from.

"Uh, thanks," Neal said, rising to his feet and brushing himself off as casually as possible. "But I really do need to get going."

Moreau ignored him as he picked up the sword lying next to the dead man’s body and raising it. Neal backed away several steps, but Moreau wasn’t brandishing the sword at him. Instead, he swung down, separating the man’s head from his shoulders.

"This should be interesting," Moreau said as light rose from the man’s body and lightning began to spark around them. Moreau raised his hand and Neal could see a small arc of lightning dance across the surface. “Huh.”

Neal backed away even further, turning to run when an arc of lightning struck him in the back and he fell to his knees. Agony blazed through him, ecstasy on its heels, until he couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and the other began and it all became a haze of too much all at once. When he was finally released, he was panting and soaked with sweat but he hadn’t felt so alive in years.

“You're Immortal,” Moreau told him.

“What?”

Moreau gave an impatient roll of his eyes, drew his gun again and shot him. Neal couldn't believe this is what his life had amounted to.

…

"You're Immortal," was the first thing Neal heard when he came to. His hand immediately went to feel his chest, which remained smooth and unblemished. His brain stuttered to a stop for a moment, telling him that this was impossible and that he really should be dead, before he forced himself back on track. There was still the man with the gun to consider.

"Immortal," Neal echoed. He assumed that was a better response given that he wasn’t immediately shot again. Progress.

"I do hate repeating myself."

Nothing Neal had heard lead him to believe that Moreau was a patient man.

"So what does that mean?" Neal asked, rising to him knees and then climbing to his feet.

"There is only one way you can die," Moreau said, gesturing to the body a few feet away. "You won’t age, you won’t get sick, and you will have to defend yourself against your sword wielding fellows until one of them gets lucky."

Neal was sure he detected a faint bitter undertone, but there was nothing of it in Moreau’s expression. He figured it was safer to avoid that all together.

"Right," Neal said faintly, at least mostly just going along with Moreau until he could get away somewhere to think about everything and probably consult Mozzie. "I'm not really a fighter."

"You'll have to learn if you want to survive. Though your immortality does make things easier," Moreau said, a look of contemplation on his face as he looked at Neal that left Neal distinctly uneasy.

"Easier?"

"To fake your death. I've been keeping an eye on you," Moreau said and Neal couldn’t help but shiver at the idea of having Moreau's attention. "I have a position available for a man like you."

"I really don’t think I’m the man you’re looking for," Neal said, trying to sound grateful for the opportunity and regretful at turning it down. He was sure he failed at both.

"Since my incarceration, I’ve decided to shift the direction of the organisation. You are the perfect man,” Moreau assured him.

"I wouldn’t be able to come back here," Neal said, because he had the feeling Moreau was not going to take no for an answer. Moreau simply stared at him, but he’d known the answer before asking the question, anyway.

"The Quickening will have destroyed most of the evidence and there aren’t any cameras at this end of the alley," Moreau said. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Neal, who pulled it on gratefully, only too happy to hide the bloodstains. "Think about my offer," he added before walking off. Neal stood staring at him for a moment before he heard sirens in the distance and was forced to move.


	2. Chapter 2

Neal slunk into the office, not really wanting to deal with Peter or the FBI but not really having a choice in the matter. The FBI held his leash and they seemed to like to choke him with it whenever they felt like it. It meant he never actually got to see which side he actually came down on and expended more energy than was probably wise trying to work his way free.

He set the fedora down on at his desk without his usual flourish and dropped into his chair. Working with the FBI wasn't without its excitement, but the last few days had just been crazy. He still didn't know how he felt about the whole Immortal thing, whether it was a curse or a blessing, but it did give him options he hadn't had before.

"You've been quiet," Peter said, standing in front of his desk. Neal looked up, expression neutral.

"Just considering my options," Neal said, not feeling inclined to indulge Peter since the man was still planning to go to Washington and leave him twisting in the wind.

"Don't do anything stupid," Peter warned him. Neal smirked.

"Would I do that?"

"Yes," Peter said without hesitation.

"You wound me," he said, keeping it light-hearted even if he wanted to flinch away from Peter's searching gaze.

"Not as much as I'm tempted to," Peter said, amusement leaking from his eyes even though his expression remained stoic. Neal grinned.

"You know you love me really," he said. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Elle will be disappointed," he said dryly.

"She's a strong woman," Neal told him and suddenly they were both serious. "I'm fine. Really."

Peter gave him a dubious look but nodded finally and let it go. As Neal watched him walk away, he wondered if Peter would bother to chase him this time if he did run.

…

"Neal," June called. "You have a visitor."

"Thank you, madam, your direction is most appreciated," a faintly familiar voice said. Neal opened the door to see the naked man he’d met in the park.

"Mr Morgan," he greeted, holding out a hand, which the man shook.

"Henry, please," he insisted, standing a little awkwardly in the doorway. Neal gestured him in, curious as to why the man might have tracked him down. Henry stepped into the apartment and paused, looking around before settling on the artwork Neal had been working on that afternoon.

"Call me Neal," he said, hoping to set the man at his ease.

"Yes, of course, Neal," Henry said, focusing back on Neal. He raised a hand which was holding a bottle of red wine. "I just wanted to express my appreciation for your assistance the other day."

"Thank you," Neal said, turning the bottle to look at the label. He raised an impressed eyebrow. It was not a cheap bottle of wine and it seemed Henry knew his wines well. Neal made a spur of the moment decision. "Why don't we share it over fillet. I was about to make for myself, but there's enough for two."

"I really couldn't," Henry said, though there was something reluctant and lonely about him when he said it. "I have to get back to work."

"Chain you to your desk, do they?" Neal asked with a teasing smile. It took Henry a moment to smile back. It looked like an expression he wasn't used to practicing.

"Maybe I could take a short break," Henry conceded. Neal gestured him to a seat, uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass. Henry slowly removed his coat and scarf, draping them over the back of a chair before taking a seat.

"You're an artist?" Henry asked, looking at the piece Neal was in the middle of.

"If you know enough to track me down, then you must know about this," Neal said, raising a pants leg and showing his anklet. "And my situation."

Henry conceded that with a nod.

"I've never found much reason to want to leave New York," Henry said, unruffled by Neal's revelation. Neal shrugged. He knew plenty of reasons to leave, but something always seemed to drag him back and he was never entirely unhappy with the aftermath, just the lack of choice.

"So, we've established I'm a slightly reformed criminal," Neal said with a self-effacing smile. "What do you do?"

"Medical examiner for the NYPD," Henry told him. Neal raised his eyebrows.

"What draws someone to that profession?" 

"An obsession with death," Henry suggested. Neal shook his head. He didn't know Henry well, or at all really, but he could tell that was as true as Neal committing his crimes for the money. It might be part of the truth but it was only a small part.

It also felt a little too on the nose given his recent revelation. The man who couldn't die and the ME obsessed with death. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. 

"And a knack for puzzles," Henry conceded. Neal smiled and raised his glass.

"Something in common, then."

Henry raised his glass too and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"My friend Abe runs an antique store that has some good finds," Henry said, shifting the conversation away from more contentious issues. "He even had a Camille Faure vase the other day."

"Really?" Neal asked, genuinely intrigued. He only briefly thought about what it would take to obtain it, but that was more habit than anything. They fell into a comfortable conversation about various antiques and rare artworks they'd come across.

...

Neal was on his way home, taking a meandering walk and breathing in the city that was so much part of him, since he wasn't sure, one way or the other, how much longer he would be able to stay. Either the FBI would tighten his leash unbearably or try to transfer him to Washington again to keep a closer eye on him and he'd be forced to run again. In which case, he might actually be tempted by Moreau's offer. Mozzie would probably encourage him to take Moreau up on the offer, go back to Europe where the FBI had no jurisdiction, but that still left Neal the problem of never being able to return. Not for decades and, even if he was Immortal like Moreau claimed, that still felt like a long time when everyone he had come to feel anything for was here, now. 

"You really should be more careful," Moreau said, coming to walk in step with Neal.

"You've been following me for three blocks," Neal said.

"Four," Moreau corrected, but he seemed a little impressed despite himself. Neal shrugged, but made a note to keep a better eye on his surroundings.

"You need training," Moreau told him. 

"I can use a gun and I have a little fencing experience," Neal said. Moreau frowned.

"You will be facing opponents with hundreds or thousands of years experience on you. The only advantage you can give yourself is to be ruthless and well-trained."

Neal knew that ruthless wasn't exactly in his repertoire. Keller had tried to bring that out in him and failed dismally. Even Peter had expected him to simply cut off his feelings for Kate and move on when he'd first made his deal and Elle had expected no less when she wanted Peter kept out of everything. The only one who seemed to realise Neal's inherent weakness was his father, who had exploited him thoroughly. 

"In here," Moreau said, indicating an empty storefront. Neal hesitated a moment before following. Moreau didn't want him dead and had in fact already killed him. It just hadn't stuck. Neal was still dealing with that. The storefront was just that, a front for what turned out to be an empty room with only a stand with swords in the corner.

"Find one you're comfortable with," Moreau told him as he shed his jacket. Neal couldn't really afford to lose more suits, so he shed his jacket too, before going over to inspect the swords.

"Why are you doing this?" Neal asked as he picked up the swords, hefting them to find which felt right in his hands. Some practice wouldn't do him any harm even if Moreau was utterly deranged. If nothing else, it would help him stay in Moreau's good graces until he made a decision.

Moreau didn't pretend not to understand.

"Because you are too useful to let die because you are ignorant," Moreau told him. Neal sensed there was a lot more to it than that, but he doubted he'd get any real answers from Moreau.

"I'm not a killer," Neal felt the need to tell him. "If I worked for you, it wouldn't be like that."

Moreau raised a sword and gestured for Neal to do the same.

"All Immortals are killers or they're dead," Moreau told him, shifting his stance in a way that Neal tried to mirror. "But it would be a waste to use you in that way."

It was all just words and Neal knew how cheap those were, but Moreau did seem to be invested in Neal's continued survival and well-being. Despite himself, he found himself more and more drawn to Moreau's offer.

"Defend yourself," Moreau said and so began some of the most brutal hours of Neal's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mozzie shows up next time.


	3. Chapter 3

Neal came home to Mozzie drinking a glass of the last of the wine Henry had brought. 

"Not a bad vintage," Mozzie said, holding the glass up to the light and swirling the contents.

"No, it wasn't," Neal agreed, opening another bottle and pouring himself a glass. He sat down at the table opposite Mozzie and loosened his tie.

"Word is, Moreau's back on the scene," Mozzie told him. "I always knew he hadn't been dropped in a hole and forgotten about. Men like Moreau don't disappear like that."

"I suppose they don't," Neal said, though there had been part of him that was glad when he originally heard the news. Moreau's reputation had been ruthless and violent for all that he appeared cultured, but the Moreau he'd met had been different somehow. Still violent and ruthless in his own way, but not nearly so refined. "I met him."

"I thought you avoided him when you were in Europe," Mozzie said, undoubtedly trying to fit an encounter with Moreau he hadn't told Mozzie about into his timeline. 

"I did," Neal said, wondering where to start with the mess that was the last week of his life. Mozzie would probably take the news about Immortals without blinking, but Neal wasn't entirely sure how he was taking that himself. "He contacted me a few days ago."

Mozzie stared at him in surprise for a moment.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I was trying to work out what his angle might be," Neal said, because he wasn't exactly a hot commodity these days. He was on a short leash and playing the side of angels. That usually precluded any of his colleagues wanting to work with him, but Moreau had sought him out.

"And what was your conclusion?" Mozzie asked. Neal could see Mozzie was already halfway into his theories and conspiracies.

"I don't know," Neal admitted. "He offered me a job." 

Mozzie leapt to his feet and began pacing in front of the window.

"Moreau's the big time," Mozzie said. "We'd be set for life."

Neal couldn't help but smile at Mozzie automatically including himself in Neal's plans. 

"We'd also be stuck with Moreau," Neal told him. "He's not the kind of man to let someone go just because they changed their mind."

"Why would you want to?" Mozzie asked, genuinely surprised at Neal's reluctance. "And Eliot Spencer did."

"Maybe because that's the kind of person Moreau usually hires."

Spencer had been another name Neal avoided. While there were rumours recently of Spencer going soft, for a long time, as both Moreau's right-hand man and a retrieval specialist, he'd been formidable.

"He looks after his people," Mozzie said.

"If I decide to go with him, it won't be alone," Neal assured him. Mozzie nodded as if that had been a foregone conclusion. Neal supposed it had.

...

Neal winced a little as the smell of the morgue assaulted his senses.

"Is there something I can help you with?" a tall man asked, blocking Neal's way.

"I'm looking for Henry Morgan," Neal told him, looking past him, further into the room.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"A friend," Neal said, wondering if going to the morgue had been a mistake, but after Rebecca he wasn't inclined to trust chance meetings and serendipity. Henry seemed to be who he said he was, though.

“A friend?” the man echoed, somewhere between surprised and confused.

"Neal," Henry said, coming in from behind him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I had some free time between cases, thought I'd see where you worked," Neal said. Anything was better than working insurance fraud cases. "I hope that's alright."

"Of course," Henry said. "We're at a lull in a case ourselves."

"Dr Morgan," the other man said, curiosity evident.

"Lucas, this is Neal Caffrey, an FBI consultant," Henry told him. "Neal, Lucas, my assistant."

Henry gestured toward his office, foregoing any further questions Henry's assistant might have.

"I brought some tea," Neal told him, once Henry had closed the door behind them. "Earl grey."

Henry hesitated briefly before smiling. Neal pulled a thermos out of his bag and Henry's smile became much more genuine. Neal took out two china cups as well and Henry laughed. It sounded rusty with disuse. Neal grinned at him, having assumed that plastic or cardboard cups would simply not do, and poured two cups of hot tea. Henry picked up his cup and breathed in the scent of it deeply.

"Outside of Abe's brew, I haven't had a good cup of tea in some time."

"You're close then. You and Abe?" Neal asked, wondering if that was the man who had come when Henry called.

Henry's expression was complex, but clearest of all was his love and affection for the man. The closest thing to that Neal had was Mozzie, who had always stood by him and done his best to support Neal, even if it wasn't necessarily always in ways Neal appreciated.

"I suppose so," Henry said. "He knows everything about me."

Neal couldn't claim the same of Mozzie. Not even close. They'd kept most of their pasts secret for a very long time, but that had never really mattered because they'd known the most important things about each other. 

It occurred to Neal that every significant adult relationship he had ever had had started with a con. Mozzie, Kate, Peter, Rebecca, even his relationship with Sara began with a lie, even if she hadn't believed it. Henry was the only one he'd been honest with.

"Sounds like something special."

"Yes," Henry said, smiling faintly. "It's without compare."

He looked like nothing so much as a proud parent. Slowly, his smile faded to a frown and Neal wondered what he was thinking about. 

"Henry," a tall, beautiful woman said, appearing in the doorway. Henry's gaze turned unerringly toward her. "Do you have the results?"

"Yes, of course," Henry said, standing.

"I'll catch you another time," Neal said, flashing his brightest, flirtiest grin. Henry smiled back automatically and Neal was more than a little pleased to see the woman's look of surprise.

"I'd like that," he told Neal.

Neal smirked, nodding to Henry's assistant, as he walked away.

...

When Neal returned to the office, they’d set up Peter's farewell in the conference room. Diane and Clint had done the organising and Elle had provided a recommendation for the catering.

"What were you doing at the morgue?" Peter asked when the line of congratulators finally wore down to a trickle. Neal quickly concealed a frown, but he imagined Peter noticed it anyway. He hadn’t realised he necessitated following again or that he’d taken so long to see Henry.

"Looking for a good substitute to fake my death," Neal answered easily with a quick grin. Peter stared steadily at him. "You're not my handler anymore."

"Neal," Peter said with a sigh. He shook his head. "Then I'm not asking as your handler. I'm asking as your friend."

"Is that what we are?" Neal asked him, expression serious. Peter faltered for a moment. 

"After everything?" Peter said and Neal sighed.

"I gave the medical examiner some help when he needed it," Neal told him. Peter continued looking suspicious, but he dropped the questioning. 

"Clint's going to be taking over the office."

"He deserves it," Neal said carefully, happy for Clint but not sure where that left him.

"He does," Peter said and Neal wondered if Peter was remembering his admonition to Clint not to become Neal's handler.

"When do you leave?" 

"End of the week," Peter told him. They were silent a moment. "I'm not sure if it's going to work out."

"You deserve it too," Neal said and he meant it. Peter had put his career on hold for Neal, had almost gone to prison, but they were supposed to go their own ways in a better place than where they started, that had been the deal at the beginning. Neal was still stuck and he never did well feeling trapped.

"You deserved it, too," Peter told him, voice soft with regret. Neal shrugged and looked away. 

“The whole point of being a conman is not getting what you deserve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter in Washington won't be the end of Peter and Neal.


	4. Chapter 4

Neal was back to leaning against the railing and staring at the East River, wondering about his options and where they'd leave him. And whether or not he could live with the consequences.

"You're too predictable," Moreau told him, coming to stand beside him. Neal turned. He still wasn't sure of Moreau's motives other than the man was clearly trying to woo him over to his side and it wouldn't do to have a man like Moreau in his blind spot.

"My options are limited," Neal said, glancing down at his ankle.

"A friend of mine would say that just meant you had to get more creative," Moreau said absently, looking out onto the water. "Or ruthless."

Neal wondered who this friend was since it was the first time Moreau had mentioned anyone of his acquaintance. He wondered what kinds of friends Moreau had. His mind produced a blank.

"There is that," Neal said, making his mouth form a smirk. He doubted Moreau would appreciate any interest in his personal life or an indication of any kind of preoccupation or weakness. Despite his anklet, he'd always managed to do what needed to be done. As much as he chafed at the restriction, he did enjoy the challenge of it all. "I've been thinking about your offer." 

Moreau nodded, expression dispassionate. Neal had no idea how to read him. He'd been campaigning for Neal to join him, for Neal to practice, but Neal couldn't understand why or what Moreau's motivations were.

"What is your decision?" Moreau asked, shifting to lean against the railing and look out at the water. His expression was distant and Neal wondered what he was thinking about or maybe who, given that that was what Neal had been considering.

"I'm interested, but I won't leave New York behind," Neal told him. "I can't. Not yet."

Moreau scoffed.

"A mortal perspective," Moreau said, not bothering to hide his disdain, "but I can work with that," 

"Really?" Neal asked, sure that that would have been too much of a concession for the man to make. Moreau wasn't exactly known for his ability to compromise. Moreau didn't say anything but his smirk sent a chill down Neal's spine. He wondered, not for the first time in the last few years, if the deal he'd just made was worth the consequences, but it was too late to worry now.

...

Neal knew Peter was probably going to check in with him at some point, that was just what he did, but Neal didn't feel like dealing with him, didn't really feel like dealing with anyone. He let his feet carry him where they would and was only a little surprised to find himself in front of Henry's friend's antique shop.

It only took him a moment to decide to go in. Henry intrigued him and it was a fairly mild way to learn more about him. He didn't even have to pretend to be anyone but himself. He pushed open the door and breathed in the smell of old wood, leather and the musty smell even the cleanest of these kinds of places seemed to attract.

"Can I help you," an older man asked, grey hair combed neatly. This was clearly Henry's Abe.

"Henry mentioned your shop and I thought I’d check it out," Neal told him.

"Is that so," Abe said, an odd inflection in his voice and Neal wondered, not for the first time, what their relationship was. The way Henry spoke about Abe, the bond seemed far stronger than the simple friendship Henry implied. 

"I have an interest in quality pieces," Neal hedged, wondering if Henry had said anything about him and, if so, what. He wouldn't get any answers if the man was suspicious of him, but Abe only seemed curious and affable, not suspicious at all. He could only assume Henry hadn't mentioned him.

"Well, lets see if there's anything to interest you," Abe said with a smile.

He did have some quite good pieces for a store like this, but Neal usually went after far more expensive fare. Still, the man seemed good company and his taste was far above Neal's usual company these days.

Toward the back of the shop, next to an old-fashioned register, was a picture of Henry and Abe, smiling as though at some shared joke. The shadows in Henry's eyes seemed, for that frozen moment, almost non-existent. It took a moment to drag his gaze away.

"You seem like a man of sophisticated tastes," Neal said.

"Likewise," Abe replied with an affable, but a little too knowing, smile. "Tea?" he offered before Neal could think of an excuse to take his leave. His phone rang and he looked at the display, revealing Peter's number. It would have been the perfect excuse to take his leave, but Peter wasn't on call that weekend, wasn't technically anything until he went to Washington, therefore Neal wasn't on call either. If it were something urgent, Peter would have just shown up. He ignored it.

"Certainly," Neal said, following Abe further into the store.

Sometime later, Neal was surprised to find it had been almost an hour, they heard the tinkle of the bell at the front door, indicating more customers. Neal looked up, pausing mid-sentence, to see Henry and a tall, beautiful woman smiling at each other as they entered. From the way they leaned toward each other, on the edge of being just a little too close, and the way Henry smiled, faint and hesitant, Neal could see that they were attracted to each other, that they were on the cusp of moving toward something more intimate.

"They make a good couple," Neal said, unable to hide entirely his disappointment.

"Henry doesn't have many friends," Abe told him with a faintly amused smile. "And he's not exactly conventional either."

Neal's phone beeped, drawing Henry's and the woman's attention. For a moment, they were silent, then it beeped again. Neal carefully put his cup down and looked at the display. Peter again. The first message was checking in on him disguised as an invitation to dinner. The second one was a more blatant enquiry into what he was doing.

"I should get going," Neal said. 

"I'm sorry we seemed to have missed each other," Henry told him, looking sincerely regretful. Neal gave him a quick smile. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded to the woman who watched him with suspicion and Neal was sure Henry was going to be quizzed about who he was as soon as Neal was out the door.

Neal sent Peter a message saying he'd been wandering around the city. It was true enough if Peter went looking at his tracking data but he doubted Peter would believe he hadn't had ulterior motives. Besides, he'd already said his goodbyes to the man. He wasn't sure he could do it again.

Mozzie was waiting for him when he returned to June's, two glasses of wine on the table. Neal dropped into his seat and picked up the glass of wine, breathing in its aroma before taking a sip.

"Have you seen Moreau?" Mozzie asked. "Everyone's buzzing with news about him being back."

Neal raised his eyebrows. He hadn't heard about Moreau making that kind of a stir. But then he'd been avoiding the office as much as possible. 

"Someone leaked evidence, for whatever that's worth," Mozzie scoffed, "that he was framed."

"That's... good?" Neal said, still not sure how he felt about Moreau.

"It means you won't be stuck here forever," Mozzie told him.

"About that," Neal said. "I told him we'd work with him."

"Great," Mozzie said, rubbing his hands together in glee. "The world will be ours for the taking again."

"I only agreed on the condition I don't have to leave New York."

For a brief moment, Mozzie had absolutely no expression, and then his face twisted with frustration.

"Neal, there's nothing for us here. Even the suit's leaving."

"What about June?" Neal asked. "Clint? Diana? Teddy?"

Mozzie remained firm, though he had winced at the mention of Teddy.

"June would understand," Mozzie insisted. "And the others are suits."

Neal sighed. He wasn't sure how it would all work out, couldn't imagine it would end well, not when the very people he was insisting on staying for were the ones who'd feel most betrayed by the deal he'd made, but it was the only way he could live with himself.

"Moreau's willing to work around it."

"Well, that's good," Mozzie said, frowning. "He must want what you can offer pretty badly."

Neal frowned as well. Moreau was fighting awfully hard for him and he wasn't sure what could possibly be worth the effort Moreau was putting into recruiting him. Of course, Moreau might be playing a long game Neal couldn't even begin to imagine. Which, given their potential relative ages, Neal found a little too likely.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Neal felt when he revived was cold and achy. The thoughts of his case gone wrong flooded his mind immediately. He'd thought being shot was bad, but drowning had quickly replaced it as his least favourite way to die. Being shot was painful but drowning was desperation and futility.

The second thing he became aware of was that he was naked. Which led to the third and fourth realisations; he was in a morgue and Henry was staring at him in surprise. Luckily, he seemed to be the only person there. Unluckily, Moreau had given him the explanation of what to do in exactly this situation. It usually involved leaving town with the possibility of several dead morgue employees on the way out. Neal had never agreed to that scenario. Especially not now that Henry was involved.

"I can explain," Neal said, moving to sit on the morgue table. Henry shrugged out of his pristine white medical white coat and handed it to Neal, who wrapped it around himself.

"You're immortal," Henry said without preamble, looking excited at the prospect. Neal blinked. "I've never met another one other than Adam."

It was a lot of information to process. Neal put aside the question of who Adam was and focused on something far more important.

"Another one?"

"Immortal," Henry told him, practically vibrating with excitement. "Although you don't seem to disappear from the scene or revive in water."

"Disappear? Water?" Neal asked, thoroughly lost. His experience as an Immortal was brief, but Moreau hadn't said anything about either of those things.

"How does it work for you?" Henry asked. "How long have you been this way? How old are you?"

Despite the questions that were buzzing around his own head, Neal drew himself together and looked around, glad it seemed to be late and no one else was around.

"Perhaps we could discuss this later at my place?" Neal suggested. 

"Right," Henry said, stopping his restless pacing and fidgeting and looking at Neal intently, as if realising the full situation for the first time. "Yes, of course."

"My clothes?" Neal asked, shivering a little in the cold of the morgue with only the thin coat to protect him. Henry went to fetch them immediately.

"You're a John Doe," Henry told him handing him his clothes. "You didn't have identification on you when you came in and I hadn't completed the paper work yet."

"Thanks," Neal said, reluctantly pulling on his still damp and muddy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn't been wearing his anklet when he'd gone overboard or he'd have some extremely awkward questions to answer when he found Clint. It was still strange to be reporting to an agent that wasn't Peter and he doubted his going missing on their first case without Peter would reflect well on any of them, but at least he wasn't permanently dead. He smirked when it took Henry a very long moment to look away from Neal dressing. Henry cleared his throat awkwardly and there was no hiding the blush beneath the scruff of beard.

"I am very glad you are alive," Henry told him when he was done. Neal smiled, warmed by Henry's sincerity.

"Me too," he replied and Henry smiled back at him.

...

When Neal dragged himself into the FBI offices, he knew he was getting more than a few strange looks. He hunched, both as part of his cover and to hide the bullet hole at his chest. 

"Neal," Clint said in relief.

"Where the hell have you been?" Diana demanded. Neal smiled faintly, knowing that the anger was masking concern.

"Looks like I took a riverside nap," Neal told them. Diana rolled her eyes, looking Neal over carefully.

"We received reports of the body of a John Doe of your description being fished out of the river," Diana told him. "We were just about to follow up."

"What are the chances?" Neal asked, uncomfortably aware that if he hadn't been Immortal, they would be down at the morgue identifying his body. Despite not being able to read him as well as Peter, they seemed to pick up something from his tone, because their sharp gazes both searched his face. Neal sighed and looked down at himself.

"Any chance of a shower and change of clothes before the debrief?" he asked and Clint's expression automatically softened at the reminder of Neal's close call.

"You could definitely use one," Diana said with a sniff, concern firmly hidden behind her brusque nature now that she was sure he was alright.

"I think that can be arranged," Clint told him. 

"Great," Neal said, turning to go find the spare suit he kept at the office for exactly that reason. "By the way, there's an impatient cabbie downstairs who'd like to be paid.”

...

Neal was restless. He didn't even bother trying to focus on his latest painting, but that didn't stop him from sitting, rising, pacing, only to try sitting again and simply repeating the process.

In the last weeks, his entire world had changed. Not just with the discovery of Immortals and Moreau's interest in him, but also his encounter with Henry. Henry was the only person he'd ever met who didn't want him to be half of himself. Mozzie wanted him to be a conman. Peter and the team wanted him to be a straight-laced, if innovative, consultant. Henry was the only one who'd expressed equal interest in both sides of him.

When there was a soft but firm knock at the door, Neal forced himself to wait a moment before opening it. Henry greeted him with a hesitant smile. There was a lot they needed to discuss.

"Come on in," Neal told him and Henry nodded at him before entering. 

"Finding someone like me, someone not..." Henry's smile faded as his words trailed off and he shook his head. "Nonetheless, it's still amazing."

"It's all still a little new to me," Neal admitted.

"How long have you known?"

"A week or two."

"Weeks?" Henry asked, surprised. "That is new."

"How long have you known?" Neal asked, curious. He'd wondered about Moreau, but he wasn't really the sort of man you asked personal questions.

"200 years," Henry told him. "Or there about."

Neal couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to be that old, what he could accomplish in that time.

"How did you deal with it?" Neal asked. "I have a teacher of sorts, but not really having anyone to talk to about all this makes me feel a little like I'm losing my mind."

Henry shrugged, looking uncomfortable and Neal figured he'd touched on a sore point. Perhaps it was safer to leave that subject alone.

"It is easier with someone to talk to," Henry said with a faint smile, shaking the dark thoughts away. It was the smile he always wore when he spoke about Abe.

But Abe was aging and Neal knew he'd be facing the same in a few years with Mozzie, Peter and all the others. He wondered how much Henry had lost in all his years. It seemed like an enormous burden without anyone to share it with.

"I can't imagine," Neal said, expression distant. Henry's expression turned sympathetic as though he knew what Neal was thinking about.

"You will."

Neal simply nodded, aware of, if not entirely prepared for, the inevitable.

"You and Abe seem close," Neal said.

"He's my son," Henry said, looking a little surprised and scared at having admitted it, before simply looking pleased at being able to say it without consequence.

Neal watched Henry talk about Abe, a light in his eyes Neal hadn't seen before. Without much conscious thought, Neal leaned forward and kissed him, cutting him off mid-word. Henry tensed and Neal wondered how long it had been since he'd done this and if maybe it had been a mistake. Then Henry made a little noise in the back of his throat and relaxed, body conforming against Neal's. One hand slid to the back of Neal's head, shifting the angle and pulling Neal closer. Neal started to grow light-headed. Drowning might have been one of the worst ways to die, but Neal wondered if this might be the best.


	6. Chapter 6

Neal was a little giddy at his first legal trip out of New York in years. He wasn't sure what Moreau had done or whose strings he had pulled, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. It didn't even bother him that he was in Washington. Though he did feel a little naked without the anklet, a little unsure where he went from there.

He didn't even find it particularly objectionable when Moreau asked him to pick a lock to a reasonably priced apartment in a reasonable neighbourhood. The whole place was so non-descript, Neal wondered what on Earth Moreau could possibly find interesting.  
It was only when the door swung open and Neal found himself both squinting against a sudden buzzing headache and staring into the barrel of a gun that Neal realised he'd been set up. He gave his best charming but harmless smile, still struggling to rein in his instinctive fear of guns despite his Immortality. The man holding the gun was tall, whipcord thin and entirely unwavering.

"This is all Moreau's fault," Neal said, hoping the man himself would step in at some point, but Moreau stayed silent behind him. The man's stare remained hard for a long moment before he sighed and lowered the weapon.

"Of course it is."

The man looks past Neal to Moreau standing behind him and Neal isn't sure how to read the expression he has. He doesn't dare take his eyes off the threat in front of him to try to read Moreau's expression, even if he isn't entirely sure Moreau's not a threat either. But he's used to working with dangerous people and sometimes that's half the fun.

"He's my student," Moreau said. "And an FBI consultant."

"Of course he is," the man said with resigned exasperation. 

He gestured them in and Neal stepped into the apartment, looking around as he did so. The interior wasn't nearly so non-descript as the exterior. The apartment was open plan, like Neal's, but much larger. Half the living room area was taken up with a mess of computer equipment, old books and artefacts, a few of which actually made Neal's palm itch with the desire to touch, to appraise, to take. He thought Abe would probably love the collection. The other half was dedicated to training if the mat on the floor was any indication. Most telling, perhaps, was how at home Moreau seemed to be here.

"What are you doing?" the man asked Moreau, all but dismissing Neal who browsed the bookshelves hoping to pick up some information on the man.

"Recruiting," Moreau said, quite pleased with himself. The man didn't look impressed.

The books were a mix of old and new, in more languages than Neal could hope to recognise, never mind speak. The computer system looked top of the line too. 

"I thought you were trying to stay under the radar for now," the man said. "And in that suit, you won't have any shortage of people trying to get to you."

"I managed to find 'evidence' proving my innocence and no one likes the CIA these days anyway," Moreau said. Neal could practically hear the inverted commas and he wondered how Moreau had managed it. He certainly had more balls than Neal had credited him with if he was taking on the CIA without a second thought.

"And that was it?" the man asked sceptically. Neal couldn't blame him.

"I did wear a few people, but only for a short time and all for a good cause," Moreau said, smirking at the last and the man rolled his eyes. Neal couldn't even begin to determine the meaning of that. 

The man sighed, smile reluctantly tugging the corner of his mouth. Moreau moved forward then, crowding him against the kitchen counter. 

"I can go scare that team your painfully uninteresting mortal is so fond of now," Moreau said, hands resting on the counter at either side of the man's hips. The man looked at Moreau through half-lidded eyes and to Neal he looked more dangerous than coy.

"Sounds like fun," the man said, tilting his head to one side and offering his neck. It should have been an act of submission, but Neal had the feeling he was perfectly in control of the both of them. Neal was beginning to feel superfluous. "I'm not taking any responsibility for him."

They might be talking about him, but Neal was fairly certain their entire worlds had narrowed to just each other.

"Of course not," Moreau told him, nipping at his ear. "Your mortal and his profiler can do that since Neal will be splitting his time between DC and New York's white collar team."

That was news to Neal and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Not if he'd be anywhere near Agent Kramer. On the other hand, he'd be working with Peter again. The man just sighed.

"I don't know why I put up with you."

"You wouldn't know what to do without me," Moreau told him, hand sliding to grip his hip and pull him closer. 

"Lead a quiet life?" the man offered, appearing unmoved.

"You'd hate it," Moreau said, most of the teasing leaving his voice. "You weren't made to be small and insignificant."

"I've done it before. With great success."

"You tried to get that mewling child to kill you."

There was a wealth of history between them and, for the first time, Neal wondered how old they both were, how long they'd been together. It made the idea of the future stretching out in front of him, endlessly, lonely, a chilling thought. He thought about Henry, who was like him, who faced the same issues. Just then, his phone rang, the display showing Henry's name and he couldn't help but smile at the coincidence. He moved further away, giving them some small amount of privacy and answered.

"Hey," Neal said, voice softer than he'd intended especially when they hadn't really talked since Henry had excused himself and hurriedly fled Neal's apartment after their kiss. Henry cleared his throat.

"Neal."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Neal asked, more curious than demanding.

"I was hoping you would go to dinner with me," Henry said. 

"Definitely," Neal told him and he smiled faintly when Henry sighed.

"Excellent."

"It's a date."

"If you'd prefer," Henry said and Neal could tell from his tone he was vaguely amused.

"And if I do?"

"I would enjoy that a great deal," Henry told him.

Neal grinned and determinedly didn't think about how when everything was going this well, the only way to go was down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Methos and Kronos are totally the awkward parents.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Finding Home Banner (Neal/Henry)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951151) by [TouchoftheWind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchoftheWind/pseuds/TouchoftheWind)




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